WIN Services
by Soline
Summary: War hero Severus Snape decides to change careers and do what he does best between the sheets, over the sheets, and pretty much everywhere but the sheets. Hermione Granger, pent-up university student, seeks out release at an escort service, W.I.N. Services. The identity of her mysterious escort is revealed a little too late... Mature readers only.


Snape brushed the feather end of his quill across his office desk, watching little specks of dust fly with attentive eyes. He distantly thought to call the maid and give her an earful about properly cleaning the quarters. Women looking for mind-blowing shags did not appreciate a slovenly venue. They got enough of that from their husbands, after all.

He pushed himself back from the desk, crossed his arms, and scanned the room, looking for more dirt.

After the war had ended, Severus Snape thought he'd had enough of teaching. Enough of the Dark and the Light. Enough of any authority that wasn't his own. So he'd opened his own business: _W.I.N. Services_. It stood for Women In Need.

While the name was subtle, his fucking was not.

The hook-nosed, sallow, still greasy-looking man had been pleasantly surprised when women flocked to his office in Diagon Alley. After the war had ended, Snape had been titled a hero. He supposed that drew them and not his looks. His looks were nothing to swoon over. After some had experienced Snape's…skill, words from mouths (with lipstick still smeared across their cheeks, more often than not) attracted even more customers.

Snape began to screen women with increasing pickiness. He was only one man, after all, and could not begin to please so many. Women had to be between the ages of 18 and 60. They could not be overweight by his standards, which gave more "jiggle room" than the average doctor's. Women had to send a full-length photograph of themselves, clothed or otherwise, along with officially stamped Ministry Health documents stating they were clean of diseases and curses.

The women who came to Snape for attention were usually attractive, but their men had forgotten it. Snape, who'd always been ugly himself, could spot a pearly smile, a rose-petal cheek, or a curving, swan-like neck within two seconds of meeting a woman. These women needed to be reminded of their beauty and then have the repressed screams ridden out of them.

Naturally, Snape was surprised to find Hermione Granger's application in his mail this unusually sunny Thursday morning.

His dark gaze flicked back to the picture of Hermione on his desk. In the photo, she wore dark red dress robes, which showcased her curvy figure but showed little skin except for a tempting triangle above her cleavage. Although the likeness' shoulders were straight, the girl chewed her lip and gave a shaky, little smile. The photo began again with the chewing of her lip.

Snape traced his own lips with one pale finger. He'd thought Granger was marrying Weasley…but that didn't matter to him. He was more concerned with his relationship to her. Wasn't she turned off by the slippery, nasty ex-Potions professor…or turned on? Or did she not know who he was? Surely Granger didn't often converse about sex services with others.

He wasn't a mite bothered that she'd been his student. She was a woman now, and she'd proven herself in the war. Not to mention, with her petite body and that bright mind, Snape's trousers were beginning to feel tight.

A nasty smirk played across his face as he dipped the quill. If Miss Granger didn't know who he was, she'd soon know him very, very well.

 _Dear Hermione Granger,_

 _Your application to W.I.N. Services has been accepted. Your appointment is set for 3 pm Saturday, February 3rd, at W.I.N. Services headquarters located at 133 Cauldron Street in Diagon Alley. Kindly return an owl with your confirmation._

 _I require a strict regime before you arrive in order to ensure your satisfaction. The more you meet my approval, the more…enthusiastic you will find me. Bath meticulously, including your ears, toes, and your quim. If you desire anal play, I require a cleansing spell be done before you arrive. You may wear some make-up and scent, but do not mask yourself. Above all, eat a light lunch to avoid sluggishness or sickness._

 _Included you will find a checklist of activities you can engage in during your appointment and the costs of each activity. Complete and bring this form with you to the appointment._

 _You may owl me with any questions._

 _At your service,_

 _S._

* * *

Hermione was nestled in bed with a book when the bird came. She'd just Apparated from her Wizarding university and dove into bed for some downtime. Of course, her downtime included studying…with butter cookies. The raven scratched against her flat's window patiently, its onyx eyes watching her as she untied the letter from its leg and paled.

"Thank you," she breathed to the raven, and it flew away after what definitely looked like a bow.

Hermione's eyes scanned the letter in a panic, not actually reading anything except the word accepted. Then she pressed the parchment against her stomach, sat on her bed, and, with a long exhale, lifted it again to read properly.

"Crooks," she said quietly. The bored-looking orange beast was staring at the window where the raven had been and now turned a less interested gaze to his master. " _W.I.N._ accepted me. The escort accepted me."

Hermione swallowed, trying to wet her mouth. Why had he only written _S._ as a signature? Perhaps he wanted to protect his identity. Hermione, at least, felt better being able to attach some title to him besides escort.

She read through his requirements hungrily and committed them to memory. She was nothing if not attentive. Then she slid a second piece of parchment from the envelope. It was the list of activities.

 _Kissing. French kissing. Light petting._ The more she read, the redder she grew. _Fingering…Fellatio…Sixty-nine…Rimming…_ Hermione began to fan herself with the nearby textbook. _Bondage…Roleplay (requires pre-appointment planning, owl for details)…Anal play…Toys…Making love…Fucking…_

Weren't making and fucking the same thing? Hermione chewed her lip, feeling ill-prepared and sick. Like she'd forgotten an important name right before an exam. Why was she doing this anyway?

Why was she doing this? Hermione placed the papers carefully aside and stared at them. Because she wanted to, she answered herself simply. She wanted to be dirty and misbehave. Ever since the war had ended, she'd had nothing to be thrilled about. No breaking the rules or running from death.

Hermione was addicted to the thrill.

Everything had started to look flat and colorless. Everything had been done. But sex…sex was an unexplored wilderness—new and wild and frightening to Hermione.

She'd had sex before, but she'd never really had it. Never had mind-shattering orgasms and shags in the alley and uncontrollable passion that made her quim pulse. Ron had been nice while they'd lasted, but that was all he'd been.

When she saw the advertisement for _W.I.N. Services_ , which had filled an entire page, it'd filled her mind until she'd thought of nothing else.

So here she was. Hermione Granger, war hero, debasing herself to an escort service.

But that wasn't how she saw it. No. From what she'd heard, the escort of _W.I.N. Services_ was outrageously fantastic in bed, and she'd be learning from the very best. Without even a textbook.

* * *

Snape was surprised to find Hermione's letter in the mail. Her appointment wasn't for two more days. Did she request role play? If she'd wished for a Potions master to bend her over a teacher's desk…

He seated himself in his dark-green, leather-cushioned desk chair before slipping her letter open. One side of the man's thin lips rose in a smirk as his eyes scanned Hermione's requests.

"Indeed…" he murmured, laying the letter on the desk. He still smiled. Although Snape always enjoyed his appointments, he predicted this one would be especially entertaining.

* * *

Hermione crouched to check her legs for any stray hairs. She'd shaved twice during her morning shower with a softening gel, so there couldn't be any—

She saw it. On her inner thigh was one hair. _S._ probably wouldn't notice, but Hermione reached madly for her tweezers anyway.

She had two hours to eat a light lunch and go to _W.I.N. Services_. With tears in her eyes, Hermione tossed her tweezers on the bed and hurried to the kitchen for yogurt and toast. Usually she'd enjoy a bowl of buttery pasta, but today was a special occasion. As requested, she wore little make-up and only spritzed body spray on herself once—no different than her usual routine.

It was a very important day for Hermione. She'd thought long and hard before owling her list of activities and requests to _S._ If she was paying for these lessons, she was going to get exactly what she wanted.

Upon journeying to Diagon Alley, she was grateful she'd worn a heavy overcoat. Her outfit beneath, a skirt reaching a couple inches above her knees and a fitted white sweater, did not offer much protection from the harsh February wind. She found _W.I.N. Services_ a bit too quickly for her nerves. The headquarters looked very respectable from the outside. It sat a little farther back than surrounding stores. The outside walls were lined with dark, glossy wood and stone-framed windows. The glass of each window was darkened, and Hermione was sure they'd been charmed, so passersby and curious cats couldn't look inside. Above the door, a hanging sign was suspended by two short chains, and the name _W.I.N. Services_ curled gracefully across it in green lettering.

Hermione clenched and unclenched her fists, willing herself to not run. She'd faced Voldemort before—she could face some wild sex as well with a stranger…right?

For the sake of excitement and learning.

A quick spell told her it was exactly 3 pm. She flipped her somewhat-tamed curls over one shoulder and walked into the building.

No one greeted her.

Although this was part of Hermione's request, she was still slightly unnerved.

The inside was lit with a calming, soft light from the flickering fireplace on the far wall. The floors were covered with the same gleaming wood as the outside walls, but the walls were painted in dark forest green. A few bookcases sat along the walls, and Hermione's eyes flicked across them curiously. This was obviously the main office of _W.I.N. Services_. A large desk with a leather chair sat on the left, and papers, quills, and inkwells were organized atop it neatly.

Hermione licked her lips as she spotted a figure sitting in the dark, where the firelight could not reach. She could tell he had broad shoulders and was leaning his temple against his fist, watching her, but she could not see his face.

"Are you _S._?" she said, her voice shaking slightly.

The figure nodded. "Accio health documents." The papers flew from Hermione's bag into his hand. He studied them for a moment. "Your appointment has begun," _S._ said. The voice sounded vaguely familiar to Hermione, but she shook it off. She was just nervous.

She placed her overcoat on the coat rack and pulled the desk chair around to face the figure. She did not look at him. It was part of the fun—he was going to watch her instead.

The leather was cold against her legs, but the fire's heat had warmed her nicely. Hermione dropped her bag onto the floor beside the chair and pulled out a small, metallic bullet. She rolled it against her thigh, looking at the fire and taking steadying breaths.

She'd never been so nervous—so needy—in her entire life. It had been months since Ron and she last had sex, and that had never been great. She just hoped _S._ was everything she'd dreamed…

Hermione slouched in the tall chair and draped one knee over the arm of it. She kept looking at the fire, thinking of all the fantasies she'd ever had. Sex while tied to the bed. A man thrusting into her mouth. Her curiously tasting another woman's quim. Her lover lifting her skirt and entering her from behind in one surprise motion.

Heat bloomed across Hermione's cheeks, and her nervousness lessened as her desire grew. She inched up her skirt, revealing that she wore no panties beneath.

 _S._ shifted in his seat but said nothing.

She rolled the vibrator ever closer to her quim. She'd even shaved that for _S._ but left a triangle of pubic hair. She liked a little decoration, and she liked to run her fingers through it. With her left hand, she pulled at the strands while her right hand rolled the bullet closer.

Her eyes never wandered to _S._ She wanted to feel his eyes on her, and she did. She wanted to feel watched and admired—attractive. Where women usually wanted men to see their smarts, Hermione wanted men to see her sexuality.

The bullet suddenly slipped onto her wet quim, and Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise, and she groaned. She slid the bullet between her lips, dipped it inside, then circled her clitoris. She couldn't help but flick her gaze at _S._ He was leaning forward now, but his face stayed just out of the light.

Soon she was sprawled in the chair, one leg over the left arm while her head rested on the right. Decency had abandoned her mind. Her hand worked the bullet furiously to relieve herself, but it wasn't enough.

Hermione threw out her other hand, mentally calling her wand, and it flew to her grip immediately. She tapped the bullet, and it sprung to life, vibrating and working by itself. Hermione was free to pinch her nipples through her sweater and bra as the bullet pumped her quim several times then pressed firmly on her clit. Her cry rang throughout the office as she bucked and shook.

The first part of Hermione's appointment was finished. The bullet dropped to the floor. She closed her eyes and smiled, proud of herself and glowing after the orgasm.

"Shall we proceed, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's heart stopped. Dear Merlin. She did know that voice!

* * *

Snape had stepped into the firelight, and he watched as his identity dawned upon the witch. She jumped to her feet, pulling on the hem of her skirt and turning a violent shade of red. His smirk faltered as Hermione turned tear-filled eyes upon him. His gaze fixed on her wand hand, but he should have watched the other. She pulled a small, pale fist back and punched him right below his eye, and Snape reeled back a few steps.

"How dare you?" she snarled. Her tears spilled over. "I'm so…so… You're going to wish you'd died in the war, Snape."

And she raised her wand.

Snape raised his own wand but to quickly heal his cheek before the bruising and swelling began. Perhaps this hadn't been a great idea. And where did Granger learn to throw a punch like that?

"What did you do with _S._?" she demanded, marching up to him and digging her wand tip beneath his chin.

"I am _S._ , Miss Granger. You made an appointment with me. I haven't done a thing to you, witch."

"You should have told me it was you!"

"Maybe… but then you wouldn't have gotten what you needed," he said. "A good and thorough fucking."

Her bottom lip quivered. "I am humiliated," she mumbled and walked away from him. She snatched her bag from the floor and reached for her coat. Snape frowned. This wasn't what he'd pictured, and he'd never let a customer leave dissatisfied, let alone in tears.

He couldn't let _Hermione Granger_ leave like this—embarrassed and betrayed.

He crossed the room in three long strides and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "In your requests, you wanted me to lift your skirt and thrust my cock into your quim from behind… What do you think, Miss Granger?" He gripped her hips and rolled the bulge of his erection against her lower back.

It had been torture not to touch himself while she'd masturbated. The witch was beautiful and responsive. She was all bottled up.

"Snape," she panted, shifting against him. "Don't make fun of me."

"Don't be daft. I've been looking forward to our appointment ever since I read your application. I couldn't wait to get a taste of… this." His fingers slipped down her stomach, tugged up the skirt, and slid into her folds.

"Oh, God!"

Snape had to hold her up, and then she grinded herself against his hand shamelessly. "That's it, witch," he hissed. "Just release all that repression and steam. Fuck yourself on your professor's fingers."

Hermione's wand suddenly appeared over her shoulder, pointed directly between Snape's eyes, and he registered a blinding red flash before falling unconscious.

* * *

 **What do you think? I'm working on a Part Two, so expect it within the next couple weeks.**

 **Thank you! :)**

 **Soline**


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